Those halcyon days of the early 2000s seem a long time ago now. If you’re too young to remember The White Stripes‘ early days, it’s almost impossible to imagine how fresh and exciting Jack White and his “little sister” (or, as it turned out later, ex-wife) Meg actually were. The colour-coded outfits, the blistering garage rock and incendiary live shows seemed to be beamed in from another planet.

Twenty five years on, life seems very different in all sorts of ways. Meg White disappeared from public view about 15 years ago. Seven Nation Army is best known as a song that lads watching the darts sing to denigrate the Prime Minister. And Jack White … well, Jack White continues to plot his own path regardless.

Listening to Frozen Charlotte is a bit like opening a time machine. From the very first note, it is unmistakably a Jack White album. Anyone who’s even heard one bar of a White record will immediately recognise this as his work – it’s 40 minutes or so of gloriously grungy blues rock.

Opening track G.O.D. And The Broken Ribs sets the mood in typically outlandish fashion. It’s a retelling of the Garden of Eden story – “Welcome to the Garden of Eden, there’s nobody here but me and you” runs the introduction, and he even manages to find time to allude to his former band (“You know we can’t live like a sister and a brother”). It’s a muscular, swaggering beginning to the record, with several fiery guitar solos being peeled off in White’s typically effortless fashion.

At times, it’s the heaviest that White’s ever sounded. Derecho Demonico is pure garage-punk, filled with fuzzy guitars, pedal squeals and a Hammond organ while White promises that “I don’t start something I cannot finish”. You’ll Never Fix Me is even more raucous, beginning with a cry of “so long, so long I’m gone” before developing into an electrifying jam that barely pauses for breath. She’s In A Frenzy dives into Stooges territory, a big snarling punky stomp, while Thick As Thieves even seems to pay tribute to the Beastie Boys, a frantic mix of rock and rap that bounces along irresistibly.

The only issue is that this album finds White safely within in his comfort zone. By the time the album’s reached All Alone Again, you’re attuned to the record’s sound. While it’s certainly impressive to listen to – the sound of his band jamming together on the sprawling closer Neighbours Blues is a thrilling one – you do find yourself yearning for a bit of a change of pace at times.

Only a few tracks offer a reprieve from the assault on the senses: the call and response of There’s Nobody There and the gloriously silly I Can’t Believe What I’m Saying (the sound of White earnestly bellowing lines like “I’m off track, but I need a caboose now for straightening my train out” and “I need you like a horse needs shoes” is almost worth the price of the album alone).

By now though, nobody comes to a Jack White album without knowing what to expect. After nearly 30 years, he still sounds like he’s having the time of his life, and if Frozen Charlotte is anything to go by, he’ll still be rocking away in years to come like the veteran bluesmen he holds in such reverence.